up, and directed it
to "Donna Maddalena"; then took his hat, and handed the note to his
brother.

"Oblige me by giving that to my niece," he said.

"Tell me, Rocco," said Luca, turning the note round and round
perplexedly between his finger and thumb; "do you think Maddalena will
be lucky enough to get married to Fabio?"

"Still coarse in your expressions, brother!"

"Never mind my expressions. Is it likely?"

"Yes, Luca, I think it is likely."

With those words he waved his hand pleasantly to his brother, and went
out.

CHAPTER III.

From the studio Father Rocco went straight to his own rooms, hard by the
church to which he was attached. Opening a cabinet in his study, he took
from one of its drawers a handful of small silver money, consulted for a
minute or so a slate on which several names and addresses were written,
provided himself with a portable inkhorn and some strips of paper, and
again went out.

He directed his steps to the poorest part of the neighborhood; and
entering some very wretched houses, was greeted by the inhabitants with
great respect and affection. The women, especially, kissed his hands
with more reverence than they would have shown to the highest
crowned head in Europe. In return, he talked to them as easily and
unconstrainedly as if they were his equals; sat down cheerfully on dirty
bedsides and rickety benches; and distributed his little gifts of
money with the air of a man who was paying debts rather than bestowing
charity. Where he encountered cases of illness, he pulled out his
inkhorn and slips of paper, and wrote simple prescriptions to be made up
from the medicine-chest of a neighboring convent, which served the same
merciful purpose then that is answered by dispensaries in our days.
When he had exhausted his money, and had got through his visits, he
was escorted out of the poor quarter by a perfect train of enthusiastic
followers. The women kissed his hand again, and the men uncovered as he
turned, and, with a friendly sign, bade them all farewell.

As soon as he was alone again, he walked toward the Campo Santo, and,
passing the house in which Nanina lived, sauntered up and down the
street thoughtfully for some minutes. When he at length ascended the
steep staircase that led to the room occupied by the sisters, he found
the door ajar. Pushing it open gently, he saw La Biondella sitting with
her pretty, fair profile turned toward him, eating her evening meal
of bread